This Is Not A Happy Story
by doidely dinks
Summary: Joker just wants Batman to come home for dinner, though Batman likes to pretend that his home is somewhere else. Joker does ever so care for well being of his Batsy.


**So, yeah, multi-chaptered. I'm never going to finish it. Enjoy what I actually bother writing and uploading.**

**Chapter 1**

Arkham Asylum was Hell's favorite fun house. It often seemed that the patients were quarantined as opposed to being treated, because in Gotham madness was an infectious plague and Arkham was the festering hole carved out for those with the disease.

Arkham was filthy. There was that constant underlying pungent aroma reminiscent of road kill on a summer afternoon, overpowered by the cloying smell of genetically-engineered flowers or whatever the fuck the Arkham orderlies pumped through the central-air system to calm down their criminally restless patients. The paint off the walls chipped due to the stale air and was permanently stained from God knows what. The areas that were laid in brick were carved into with images of the malicious hallucinations of a madman's own personal realities and purgatories. The sun came in through rusty barred windows in rectangular slivers, casting the most devious shadows to the maddest of patients.

Joker watched these shadowy displays with half-lidded eyes, his head growing heavier with each passing second due to the influence of whatever drug of the day they injected into his bruised forearm. The clown could only imagine what his fellow patients were experiencing, but what seemed to haunt the Joker was the silhouette of a bat flapping its wings. With every tired blink, the silhouette seemed to edge closer to him. The confused clown watched in both horror and torturous amusement. When he believed the bat was going to swoop down at him, he collapsed against the cold and dirty linoleum floor into a deep, drug-induced sleep.

All was quiet in Arkham Asylum except for the quiet hum of dated tube televisions and the sound of water rushing through pipes. There wasn't even a sign of the disturbing cackles of a certain clown.

Batman didn't like that stark quiet. Not one bit. It was always more eerie when the Joker was silent because it always invoked the worst sort of paranoia in the vigilante.

"He's asleep?" Batman asked the orderly who escorted him. "I need to speak with him this instant."

The young orderly, his name card reading 'Andrew', offered an apologetic and nervous smile to the vigilante. "I'm sorry. If you had notified us of your visit earlier, we would've prepared things accordingly, Mr. Batman."

"Right, right," Batman agreed reluctantly. "I realize that I should have called. It can't be helped, though. How long will it take for him to wake up?

The clown twitched in his sleep. _That voice_. His mind responded to the voice, trying to seek and identify the familiarity hidden among the gruff tones. His body remained dormant, his eyes still glued shut. _Speak again. ,_ was repeated in an internal mantra.

"I have no idea. There are times Joker doesn't even sleep at all even if we administer enough shit to knock out a dinosaur." Andrew cast a glance at the clown pathetically slumped over on the cell's floor. "He could wake up any second, or he won't wake up for two whole days. We never know what to expect from him."

The Batman took a moment to stare at the Joker through the bars. He bent down, nearly at Joker's level. "Well, I'm not going to wait around for the latter. Joker," He spoke loudly and clearly. "Can you hear me?"

_Me? This beautiful voice is calling little old me! I need to wake up. Someone's calling. Someone's calling! _A surge of adrenaline ran through the clown's body and beady eyes shot open, scanning the premises so he could pin the name and face to that familiar voice with his brilliantly bloodshot eyes. Mere feet in front of him, through rusted metal bars, he saw his Batman looking as unamused as ever. His eyes were narrow and serious and his mouth paraded a beautifully bitter frown. Batman was so close to him he could reach out and touch the Dark Knight, but he merely gave his visitor the sleepiest of smiles. He didn't want a black eye that early in the morning.

"To what do I owe the honor, darling?" Joker asked in a sleepy drawl.

Bruce was never fond of the pet names that the clown ever-so delighted in dishing out. He swallowed his opinion of them, though. If he brought attention to the nicknames then the Joker would only use them more frequently. This wasn't about what Batman liked or didn't like. This was business. This was his duty to the city, and Bruce had to swallow his pride and bear with being called ridiculous pet names. "A group claiming to work under you has been running notorious drug and crime rings. Currently, they're the biggest heroin and cocaine distributors in Gotham right now, and every time we take one in and interrogate them they all say they're working for you. Of course, I'm here because we've found no evidence to support to validity of their claims."

Joker rolled comfortably onto his back. He always liked the floor more than the grungy mattresses they provided at Arkham, usually because the mattresses smelled like piss, but the fact that they got soggy on humid days didn't help.

Joker flashed a yellow smile at the Bat. "What will you do for me if I tell the truth?"

"I can't believe I was sent to deal with you." Batman sighed and turned back to Andrew. "Can you let me in there? I might have to deliver a much more personal message to him, otherwise he won't tell me anything."

"In there? With _him_?" Andrew shot an incredulous stare the Batman's way, but he folded under Batman's glower. "Well, alright." He searched for Joker's cell key on the key ring and handed it to Batman. "I don't want anything to do with this, though. You're responsible for him and this key. Anything happens, it's not my problem, Batman."

With a solemn nod at Andrew, the orderly went on his way. The vigilante brought his attention back to the Joker. "Why can't you just do things the easy way?" Batman unlocked the cell and allowed himself inside. He grabbed the Joker by his uniform's collar and hoisted him up effortlessly. He hadn't been eating properly. He was lighter than the vigilante remembered. "Are they your men or aren't they?" He pressed the clown roughly into the wall, not enough to injure Joker, but enough to threaten the madman. Maybe it was just because the clown wasn't weighed down by a collection of knives and explosives that he was so light.

Joker giggled playfully. "You're not unintelligent, Batsy. You of all people know that I can't be threatened into telling my secrets. I'm far too taciturn to share my thoughts first. Do tell me what you think my relationship is to these men?"

Batman scoffed. "Taciturn" was one of the last words you'd use to describe the Joker. "If you ask me," Batman paused. He didn't want his opinion to sound too personal, but there was little avoiding it. "This is far too normal for you. These men are very consistent, not sporadic. We've traced some of their money and it's not going into anything other than guns, ammunition, vehicles, exploisves and things of the like. The only thing that's really distinguishes this from another mob problem is that they say they're working for you."

"So you're saying you came here to confirm my non-involvement? Why, Batso, I'm so touched that you think so highly of me!" The clown gushed melodramatically. He wriggled out of Batman's grasp and seated himself down on his mattress. He patted the open space next to him. "Take a load off. Mi casa es su casa. I'll bake a cake and we can watch As the World Turns!" Joker bit his lower lip and clapped excitedly. With the Batman involved, any silly idea sounded fun.

"I don't have time for your games, Joker."

Joker frowned at this. If only the Bat would entertain him just this once. "Well then, Batsy, I'll shorten it for you. You're right! They're not my men! They're probably only saying they work for me so that people will fear them. Funny thing about fear is all you have to do is throw around a few names and everyone else will run scared." The clown lounged on the mattress when he realized Batman wasn't going to stay for tea. "I wasn't even aware of this little group slandering my good name. I do hope you're aware that I'm going to find a way to slaughter them all now that I know of this group."

"They're guarded in a maximum security prison," Batman explained. "You'd have to go through a lot of trouble just to send a warning letter to one of them."

Joker snickered. "I like challenges, Batman."

Batman sighed. He hated dealing with the clown in general, but dealing with the clown in Arkham was the worst of both worlds. He felt like he was going mad within the confines of the asylum's walls, and it wasn't because he felt out of place. No, it was because he almost felt at home among all the psychopaths. He needed to wrap things up quickly before the atmosphere brought out the worst in him.

"Then I'll personally be keeping an eye on them," Batman said as a close to the "interrogation". The bars slid open with an ear-wrenching squeak. Batman got on the other side of them and locked the Joker in his cell. He turned to leave without any parting words. Bruce would have to make sure the patients were eating properly another time.

Joker was never fond of abrupt endings to conversations. Especially when they concerned the only other reality he was familiar with. "You'll come visit again, won't you?" Joker batted his eyelashes like a teenage girl. "It gets oh-so lonely in here in this dark, cold Asylum. No beach to walk on or a big strong hand to hold."

Batman's mouth formed a tight line in response. "Don't hold your breath."

Joker watched as the Bat flew away into the dark hallways, camouflaged by the black aura that seemed to follow the Bat wherever he went. Joker mulled over just how lonely the Bat had to be to have his own aura of blackness even when it was technically day time. Either way, Joker found himself bored again, awaiting Andrew to come in with another "sleepy time" needle.

It wasn't like Joker couldn't escape. The constant equilibrium of boredom made the man madder than usual, but for once the clown was complacent. It had been three months since April Fools, and early July's heat only served to make the madman more irritable. There was also no word from Harley for several months. Joker didn't know whether she was dead or away with Poison Ivy again. He always wanted to set that "plant broad" on fire.

Why couldn't the Batman just come back? Why couldn't the Batman spend a weekend in the home away from home that was Arkham? Joker knew well enough why Bat couldn't stand being inside there. He could see how visibly shaken the Bat was when he realized how at home he felt, and it annoyed Joker to no end when he saw the Bat denying himself of the company he needed. Joker, after all, fancied himself a gracious host. He would make Batman feel right at home. Why, he'd even sew the vigilante a friendship quilt that they would lay under together and tell ghost stories!

Sometimes the clown had dreams where Batman was a patient and he was the Bat's psychiatrist, and the Batman would talk endlessly of some of his worst nightmares, and, oddly enough they were nightmares the Joker shared with him. Large exchanges of words would be followed by long bouts of silence and and what seemed like an eternity of staring.

"_What I think you need to do, Batman, is stop trying to be two different people all the time."_

"_Can't you just prescribe me some pills?"_

_Joker shook his head sadly. "So you can suppress more of whatever's making you like this? You know what happens when you put too much pressure wringing a person's neck, Batsy? Their eyes pop out. Their desperate little orbs pop right out of their heads like popcorn, and the tiny little vessels are a striking red. You swear that their pupils are still dilating, that their irises are still searching the room for something to save them, that they're still _alive _and fighting, but in reality, that person's dead as a doorknob. Just because you've never killed anyone doesn't mean you don't know exactly what I'm talking about."_

_Batman sat silently, staring uneasily at the Joker. He slumped over in his plush chair, his gloved hands folded as if praying or searching for an elusive answer. Some sort of solution for the situation presented to him. The vigilante picked his head up, his shadowed eyes meeting the Joker's bloodshot pair. "I have killed, Joker. Everything I've ever known, anyone I ever was, I've destroyed it all. You're right, I may not have stabbed a person in the head or blew up a police station, but I have killed. I have _murdered_."_

"_Would the man under the mask say that?" Joker studied his patient's body language, noting every small twitch in the Batman. "You shut down on every thought and emotion you have when you wear that mask and whatever the cause is makes you mad in both senses of the words. You just can't let go. Really, Batsy, I'm starting to think you're crazier than me."_

Sometimes that very dream was only in eerie silence, each word disturbingly clear despite lips sitting still on the faces of the Devil's duo. Batman's silence always said more, though. Batman's silence said the truth when his words were deceptive. Batman's silence was the harsh reality when he spoke of things that were impossible. Joker wasn't an expert on deciphering it, but he knew that when the time came he'd understand everything and more of what he always wanted to know from the vigilante, and maybe when that time came the Batman would have the sense to talk about it himself so he could be freed from whatever prison he created.

Joker saw Andrew return with a syringe in his hand, backed up by several other orderlies. The clown smiled at the small group that had come to put him back to sleep. "Andy, I want you to deliver a message to the Batman."

Andrew didn't respond. He had heard of other orderlies who talked to the clown who faced horrifying demises. Andrew didn't want to be another one of them. He stuck the needle in Joker's arm without even acknowledging the clown's words.

"It's nothing too long, just tell him that he can come back anytime. That there's always a place for him here."

Andrew squeezed the end of the syringe, the mysterious clear liquid being sent directly into Joker's bloodstream. "Would you like a band-aid?" Andrew asked the clown dryly, displaying the box of Transformers band-aids he had on him.

Joker giggled jovially. "Only if Optimus Prime is on it. He's my favorite." Joker didn't put up any struggle when the child's band-aid was placed on his arm. He wiggled his fingers at the group as they left. "Come back any time, Andy. Don't forget to deliver my message."

Joker eyed the band-aid on his arm and frowned. _Bumblebee? _Joker sighed. Looks like he'd have to get rid of Andy. _The orderlies they hire here sure are shitty._ And soon he closed his eyes for a long and dreamless sleep.


End file.
